


Portrait of the Disturbed

by IJM



Category: General Hospital
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IJM/pseuds/IJM
Summary: Art is not just for the artist.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Portrait of the Disturbed

**Author's Note:**

> For Entertainment purposes only.  
> No claim of ownership of characters.  
> Not for profit.

Franco Baldwin sat with his back against the arm of the couch and a pillow on his lap to prop a pad in place. He used charcoal pencils to sketch the image brewing in his mind.

The house was quiet. Aiden was visiting his biological father. Jake and Cameron were both sound asleep, taking full advantage of their holiday break from school. Elizabeth was working. Epiphany Johnson had scheduled the nurses’ shifts making sure Elizabeth could be home for Christmas with her newly reunited family.

Franco was processing what he had learned about the last few months, or at least he was trying to process the overwhelming and disturbing information. His pseudo-brother was presumed dead. His body had had sex with a woman that he had only ever thought of as Drew’s ex, Cameron’s friend’s mom, and Elizabeth’s friend. Some friend.

Elizabeth had been understanding and forgiving to the point of telling him he had not done anything that required forgiveness. Even with her sincere attempt to assuage his guilt, the nature of what had happened gnawed at his sense of self.

He and Elizabeth would be okay. They made love when they went to bed the night before and this morning before she got ready for work. There were no ghosts in the bed with them. Being with Elizabeth was being home. Unfortunately, life kept moving ahead at they eventually had to leave the comfort and sanctity of their bed and face the world. Franco was doing his best to avoid the world for as long as possible. Time and space were both warped for him.

He had only feelings about what had happened with Kim. He had no memory of it. He did not know the circumstances of who made what overture that would have led them to having sex on the floor of Kim’s apartment. The floor? Really? He only knew that much because it’s what Elizabeth deduced when she found him with another woman.

Anger and resentment bubbled in his stomach. He felt like he had been used. He couldn’t understand how Kim had been able to justify having sex with a brain-damaged married man when she knew how and why he thought he was Drew. More importantly, she knew he was not Drew.

He didn’t _know_ because he couldn’t remember, but he wondered if he had been manipulated. Still, he didn’t _know_. He had only his instincts. They told him Kim was selfish and predatory and she had not cared at all about hurting Elizabeth. Or him. Or destroying their family. Maybe she wanted everyone to hurt as much as she hurt over losing a child. Grief was no excuse for her actions. His heart, his gut, and his mind all told him that everything that had happened with Kim was _wrong_ in every way.

If he were in his studio, he would have aggressive heavy metal music shaking the walls while he literally threw paint at a canvas. Since he wasn’t alone, he didn’t have the freedom to express his anger so openly.

He chose to quietly sketch. He initially started with how he was seeing Kim in his mind—a callous and cold woman with dead eyes. The more he let himself be swallowed into the liberty of expression, the more his sketch took on a unique design that his subconscious controlled.

He didn’t think about Kim. He didn’t think about anything or anyone specifically. He just _felt_. His emotions controlled every stroke his hand made. His pace varied. Some of his marks were furiously hurried and some were painstakingly precise with details. He was completely lost in the work, protected by the solitude.

“I don’t get it.”

Franco dropped his pencil and pad, abruptly disturbed by Cameron’s voice. His heart was suddenly beating so rapidly it took his breath away.

“Sonofabitch,” he muttered softly, getting his bearings. “You startled me.”

“I see that,” Cam had a goofy smile on his face, finding it funny that Franco had been so into this drawing that he wasn’t aware that Cameron had been standing behind him for about five minutes watching the oddity take shape. He retrieved the pad and pencil from the floor. “I guess you’re supposed to let painting painters paint, huh?”

“Something like that,” Franco agreed, taking his work back from his son.

“Man, you were really into it. Like in another world. Is that what’s it like when you paint?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Franco told him. “For me, anyway. I get sucked into the process and block out everything around me.”

Cam took the picture. Franco wasn’t exactly comfortable sharing it, but he wouldn’t have denied Cameron anything at that point. The kid was missing a golden opportunity to ask for a shiny red sports car.

“It’s pretty cool. But what is it?” Cam studied what he was seeing. The being in the photo was vaguely human. Not exactly a woman. Not exactly a man. “Like a monster? Or demon?”

Franco had to give credit where it was due. For a child who had little interest in art, he was perceptive. “My demons, I suppose.” Franco said, taking the picture back. Cameron had no way of knowing that the demon was a melding of Kim Nero and Jim Harvey seasoned with a sprinkling of Heather Webber, Betsy Frank, Jason Morgan, and Ryan Chamberlain.

“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Shouldn’t you be drawing Santa Claus?”

Franco laughed softly at the pedestrian idea of drawing Santa. “Maybe I should be.”

“Like, seriously, what’s up with the monster?”

He shook his head. “I don’t remember anything about when I was Drew. Your mother filled me in. I hope she told me everything.” It was out of his comfort zone to share his thoughts with Cameron, but he also wanted to honor their newfound bond. “I’m… angry. I’m angry that the person who was in my body for months was such a jerk to everyone I care about. Drew’s gone. Your poor mother had to go through so much pain and betrayal. It’s eating at me and it’s so frustrating to not remember and not even want to remember based on what she told me.”

Cam nodded. “It’s okay, you know. Being angry. People get angry. It’s all right to express anger, especially when you come up with something like that.”

“It’s hideous,” Franco commented on his own work.

“Well, yeah. But how many people could put a face to the kind of anger and hurt you’re talking about? Losing Drew. Losing months of your life. I’d probably do something stupid and impulsive like break things or say something I’d regret.” He took the portrait back to study it more closely. “This is… cool. Like completely unique and it _speaks_. I bet anyone who saw it would recognize something for themselves.”

Franco was surprised and concerned. “Do you recognize anything?”

“Yeah. I see anger staring back at me. I see not being in control of something awful that happened. I see grief. I see… shame?” His voice was a little higher as he ended with a question.

“In me or you?” Franco was worried with Cameron’s very accurate assessment of the emotions in the demonic face. He was too young to see the pain, at least he should have been.

“Well, it makes me feel what I felt when they took you away from me and mom and Jake and Aiden. I was mad. I was so sad, thinking you might be lost forever. I thought if only I hadn’t gotten myself kidnapped by that crazy Shiloh guy this would never have happened. I was ashamed that I never gave you the chance you deserved when all you did was try to love me. I was so mad at myself for not accepting that you’re the best father anyone could be to me until you literally gave up your life for me.”

“Cam, that’s nothing to feel bad about. I’m not the easiest person in the world to invest with trust. My past is… well, let’s just say it’s a miracle that I’ve ever had the chance to be a part of a family. Anyone would question letting me into a suburban dream. You’re looking out for your mom and brothers.”

“But you have proven yourself to us so many times. I shouldn’t—and I don’t anymore—care what anyone outside our family says of does or thinks. You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real dad. Even if you are weird.” He gave his dad a smile, hoping to make him laugh.

“Normal is overrated.”

“You’re right. It is. I mean, anyone’s dad can throw a ball. My dad is the only one who can draw cool, creepy, really deep stuff like this.”

“I’m not too good at throwing balls,” Franco sighed.

“You’re worse at catching them.”

They both sighed and sank back into the couch like mirror images of each other. It was true. Franco was useless when it came to the boys’ athletic interests. It was just something they would have to live with.

“At least you have a good coach.”

“You’re still way cooler.”

Franco draped his arm over Cameron’s shoulder. “I love you, kid. I really do.”

Cam leaned into the sideways hug. “I know. That’s the best part. I know for sure that you do.”

—END


End file.
